


a fundamental misunderstanding in what is worth dying for

by verecundiam



Series: kept promises [5]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, a little bit of sbi, and punz !, but mostly dream team family, except for some dialogue, follows the events of the lmanberg war, there are no villains in this history only people doing what they think is right, they’re BROTHERS I don’t make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28915803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verecundiam/pseuds/verecundiam
Summary: “So, we have a problem.” Sapnap slams open the door to the community house. Punz nearly jumps out of his skin from where he’s sitting on the chests.“What now,” Dream groans, and George gives him a commiserating grin.“They’re. Um. Starting their own country.” Sapnap paces the length of the main room. “The drug empire failed so they’re building like, walls around their van thing, and they’re saying it’s called L’manberg and it’s not a part of the SMP? It’s got a whole government? And we’re not allowed in.”George’s smile drops from his face. “What?”(Or: L’manberg’s war for independence, from the antagonists’ perspective. Part ofkept promises,but works just fine as a stand-alone.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), The Dream Team & Punz, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, platonic only as per usual
Series: kept promises [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039066
Comments: 22
Kudos: 160





	a fundamental misunderstanding in what is worth dying for

**Author's Note:**

> as per the usual disclaimer, this is about the smp characters, not the real people. hope you all enjoy :D

The bridges over the lake are steady beneath Dream’s feet. The shadows cast by the brick and stone of the community house are cool enough that without the sun beating down, he shivers. 

It took weeks to finish this house. They laid every brick themselves. Every plank. Every plane of glass. Dream’s hands are still splintered and cut and calloused, for the first time not from a weapon, but from construction. 

Sapnap comes thundering down the bridge, footsteps heavy and armor clanking, laughing at the top of his lungs even as he’s out of breath. George follows close behind with lighter feet but louder screeching, unintelligible and furious, an old iron sword held threateningly above his head. They rush past Dream, whipping through the house and out the other side. 

Dream smiles and traces his hand across the rough bricks, and it feels like—

\------------

Sapnap grins from the rooftops of the SMP. What was once a collection of houses is now something more like a town, as Dream sends out invitations to tournament buddies and rivals and old family friends, and they bring their own with them. 

Or maybe it’s like a hub, now, or a safe haven, or maybe a hideout—for people like them. Adventurers, lost kids, wanderers, whatnot. They can be here, and they can build their own homes and houses and shops, and they’re safe. Just for a little bit. And when they move on, move forward, they always have a place to come back to. 

_(It’s a luxury I couldn’t always afford,_ Punz tells them one night, dust and mob blood on their hands from days of mining. _A place to come back to. Nice to know I’ve got one now, so… thanks, or whatever._ And Dream reaches over to flick Punz’s forehead and just says _it’s nothing, dude,_ and Punz mumbles _it’s a little more than nothing,_ but they leave it alone.)

It’s something like—

\------------

Sapnap’s badly-aimed arrows are stuck in the chinks of his armor, and George sighs as he yanks them out, lamenting that he’d been walking around like a porcupine all day. He lays the pieces out on the ground, promising to himself that he’ll pick them up later, not really knowing if that’s going to be true. 

_“GOGY,”_ Sapnap screeches from the roof, and Dream chimes in with a _“GEORGIE”_ specifically because George hates it. 

“I’m coming,” he calls back, but he waits a few extra, unnecessary seconds with a small grin on his face—just to annoy them for a bit longer before he goes. 

But soon enough George meets them on the roof of the community house, and sits at Dream’s left on the stone ledge. Sapnap, on Dream’s right, leans forward so he can stick his tongue out at him. George gladly returns the gesture, and Dream, fondly exasperated, mask hanging around his neck, pushes them apart. (Sapnap pretends to nearly wobble off the roof, and is disappointed when neither Dream nor George seem particularly worried.)

Dream wordlessly gestures forward, towards the setting sun. Teasing forgotten, George watches the sun sink and the light fade from the sky. He’s sure it looks beautiful, even if he can’t see it right, and something about being here, with Dream and Sapnap by his side, feels like—

\------------

—Home. It feels like home.

\------------

“Have you gotten a response yet?” Sapnap leans around to look over Dream’s shoulder at his messages. The most recent invitations to the SMP had been sent out a while ago, to a few old friends. 

“Nothing from Philza, I think it’s safe to assume he’s off in the woods somewhere,” Dream says.

Sapnap snorts. “You’d think he’d be better about staying in touch.”

“Techno’s not coming either, he just responded with ‘sorry but potatoes’ and nothing else.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“However, Tommy and Wilbur have both confirmed they’re on their way, so that’s happening.” 

“I’m gonna terrorize that kid so hard,” Sapnap grins. 

“Mean,” Dream rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. 

\------------

Tommy steps out of the forest and into the SMP proper with Tubbo in tow and Wilbur just a few towns away, invitation clutched in one hand. 

Dream meets them at the border from up in a tree. He gives them a rundown of the rules that Tommy barely listens to, and waves them through, only giving Tubbo a questioning glance via cocking his head to the side (since Tommy’s still never seen the jerk’s face). 

“My friend,” Tommy gives as his halfhearted explanation, and Dream just nods. 

It’s still small, when they first arrive. The buildings are half-constructed and simple, and everything smells like cut wood and freshly overturned dirt. The few people here—there’s only eight or nine, mostly adventurer types that Tommy only knows in passing—are either off on mining trips or building farms or chopping down trees, and the pervading silence is only sometimes broken by the sounds of laughter or shouting. 

The trail beneath their feet hardens into a wooden pathway, and Tommy turns to Tubbo and grins. 

“What do you think of it?”

“I think it’s going to be fun,” Tubbo hums. 

“What do you want to do first?” 

“I think houses are a good idea.”

“Too bad. I’m going after George,” Tommy cackles, and he sprints away in the direction of the community house, still the grand centerpiece of the SMP due to the distinct lack of towers (which Tommy plans to change).

“You’re awful,” Tubbo calls after him, but he laughs and follows behind. 

\------------

Dream falls into his role as leader as easy as breathing. They don’t vote on it or anything—it’s the natural conclusion. The land is his, the rules are all his, and when he speaks, people listen. 

Mediating is easy when you’ve lived between Sapnap and George for most of your life. The rules he writes are simple and easy to follow, and there aren’t very many of them. He keeps the peace when he needs to and instigates a little chaos when he wants to, but he’s always careful to never let it get too far, and it works. He tells Tommy to be gentle and he tells George to be nice, he asks Sapnap to chill and Tubbo to breathe, and they scoff and roll their eyes but they listen, because Dream may prefer the shadows but he’s always done well in the light. 

\------------

The SMP grows, and it’s beautiful and crazy and sometimes on fire, and they wouldn’t want it any other way. 

\------------

Punz is in the community house when Sapnap bursts in. 

“So, uh, Tommy and Wilbur are trying to start a drug empire? They’re stealing stuff for it.”

“Drugs as in...” Dream trails off, questioningly. 

“Potions,” Sapnap explains. “Can you get addicted to potions? I don’t think you can.”

George shrugs. “I’ve heard you kind of can, but only like, buff type ones. Like, uh, swiftness and all that.”

“Really? I feel like we need to fact-check that or something.”

“They... cannot start a drug empire,” Dream says, laughing lightly. “Sorry.”

“Got it!” And Sapnap rushes out of the room. 

“Oooookay,” George mutters, and Punz laughs. 

\------------

“So, we have a problem.” Sapnap slams open the door to the community house. Punz nearly jumps out of his skin from where he’s sitting on the chests.

“What now,” Dream groans, and George gives him a commiserating grin. 

“They’re. Um. Starting their own country.” Sapnap paces the length of the main room. “The drug empire failed so they’re building like, walls around their van thing, and they’re saying it’s called L’manberg and it’s not a part of the SMP? It’s got a whole government? And we’re not allowed in.”

George’s smile drops from his face. “What?”

“Yeah. It’s uh, Tommy, Wilbur, Tubbo, Eret, and Fundy? They’re making their own rules and stuff, too. We can’t—we can’t just let them do that, right?” Sapnap stops his pacing and turns to Dream, who is silent, leaning against the furnaces. “This is—this is our home, this is everyone’s home, why…” he trails off. 

“There are—there are so many reasons why that doesn’t work. That’s so—I don’t—are they serious?” George glances from Dream to Sapnap, incredulous. “Is this an actual thing, or another stupid joke?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap says. “It’s not—this isn’t like some disc game or whatever. They’re actually making a country. Inside our land.”

“That’s so dumb,” George breathes. 

“What do you want to do, Dream?” Sapnap asks. 

“...I think we wait,” Dream says slowly, “just to make sure. But... be ready. In case they decide to do something stupid.”

“Stupid like trying to start a country, you mean?” Sapnap raises a brow. 

“Yeah. Stupid like that,” Dream laughs, but it sounds strained. Sapnap nods and rushes to leave, and George isn’t far behind.

“I want in,” Punz says, surprising even himself. But something doesn’t feel right about all this, and he knows where he stands. If he’s going to be anywhere, he’s going to be here. 

“You sure? Hoping it doesn’t come to that, but this could get messy.” Dream turns to face him, his mask shadowy under his hood. 

“I’m sure.” And he is. He knows where he stands. 

Dream holds out his hand, and Punz clasps it. 

“Then it’s good to have you here, man.”

“Good to be here,” Punz grins, and he means it.

\------------

They come to L’manberg with a plan to negotiate, and leave with a declaration of war. Dream hesitates, handing over the signed document, because it means breaking something that shouldn’t have been broken—but maybe it was already broken, and all they can do is deal with it now. 

Wilbur’s got fire in his eyes and music in his words and he’s stubborn, is the thing, and Tommy’s loyal until the end, and where Tommy goes, Tubbo follows. And something in that—in that fire and song and loyalty—brought everyone else in with them, and now Dream’s facing an army. A stubborn, ragtag, unskilled army, but an army nonetheless. 

So he hands over his declaration of war, and leaves. He shakes his head at Sapnap, perched on the half-built walls. 

They decided to do something stupid.

\------------

So they’re going to do something stupid right back, Dream decides, because his hands are trembling and he doesn’t know why, and George is still staring at the blackstone walls with something like disbelief, and Sapnap is fuming, and Punz’s grip on his sword is white-knuckled. 

The crowd gathers around Tubbo’s burning house, and Dream is the one holding the flint and steel. He doesn’t let himself look at anyone’s face as he stands in front of the ashes, the pyre, Sapnap at his right like he always is, and screams _NO MERCY, NO MERCY FOR YOU,_ because something in his chest hurts when he looks at the walls, when he looks at Sapnap’s and George’s expressions. 

(You have to _learn_ mercy. For kids left abandoned and unwanted, there was no mercy for anyone but each other. They didn’t have time to learn mercy, they were too busy trying to survive.)

(BadBoyHalo watches from the crowd, and he sighs, but he does nothing.)

(It’s not like he had much time to learn mercy, either.)

\------------

They’ve never really seen Dream angry, his revolutionaries, Wilbur knows. Neither has he, not properly. They’ve seen him frustrated and exasperated and worried, but never angry. Never furious. He’s always seemed a bit too bright for that, a little too lime green and sunshine. 

There’s something in the SMP that doesn’t _like_ Dream being angry. Something in the surrounding forests, in the lakewater, in the pale blue of the sky.

Wilbur isn’t much of a survivalist himself, but he was raised by Philza just as much as his brothers were. He knows when the land is unhappy. 

But he also knows how to be stubborn, and he knows when he’s in the right, too. Because this? This square of earth and forest and lake within their walls? It isn’t Dream’s land anymore. Wilbur’s going to make sure of it. 

\------------

Burning down the forest is a tactical decision. 

Sapnap, flint and steel in his hands, doesn’t feel very tactical—he just feels destructive. It’s not a bad feeling.

It’s been a while since he watched something as grand as this patch of forest burn to ashes and to nothing at all. He’s careful to stay out of the worst of the blaze, but still he lets the flames flicker around him and roar into an inferno, branches cracking and crashing and leaves gently falling, trailing embers. He catches one in his hands, and it crumbles. He smiles.

Burning down the forest is a strategy. _(It’s demoralizing,_ Dream murmurs, pacing up and down the wooden pathways. _Not to mention it deprives them of resources,_ George adds, ever-practical.)

It’s a strategy, it’s a tactic, it’s a part of war. But the flint and steel in Sapnap’s fingers is old and familiar, and so is Dream’s smile when Sapnap comes home with ash streaked down his face and hands.

\------------

Dream hasn’t taken his mask off in days, and he says _L’manchildberg_ with a twist to his smile like it’s something that’s supposed to be a joke. A last little remnant from when their wars were games. 

He hasn’t taken his mask off in days, but it’s okay, because George’s goggles are down over his eyes and Sapnap is fiddling with the flint and steel in his pocket, and maybe Dream needs to hide and George needs to disappear and Sapnap needs to burn. This is war, after all. They can afford at least this.

\------------

“You could be welcome here, you know. In L’manberg.”

George is patrolling. He shouldn’t have let Wilbur get this close, not with all-out battle so close to breaking out, but he’d held up his hands, unarmed and unarmored, so George let him approach without putting an arrow through his knee.

“Why?”

“I think we’re fighting for something worthwhile.” Wilbur’s voice is casual, conversational, but his eyes betray a certain kind of intensity. “Something good. I think you could be a part of it.”

“Good? Wil, you’re fighting for—for divisiveness. We’re trying to keep this place together, not rip it apart,” George snorts. 

“L’manberg is more than just another piece of the SMP, George. It’s a _country._ It’s got meaning to it. It’s something to fight for. It—it represents something bigger than ourselves, something to bring us together as people and as citizens.” Wilbur gestures grandly, and George has to stop himself from laughing outright. The _SMP_ is something to bring them together. The _SMP_ has meaning to it, and it doesn’t even need to be a country for that. Why is _L’manberg_ so special?

“Pretty words, I guess,” George says instead. “So why am I welcome, and no one else?”

Wilbur glances away, briefly. “You mean Dream and Sapnap?” 

“Mhmm. And Punz.” And all the others being excluded, all these friends and family that have lived in the SMP for months longer than Wilbur, than Tommy. That’s where L’manberg and the SMP are different. Anyone can live in the SMP. Anyone can call it home.

“They’re…” Wilbur stops. Sighs. “I want L’manberg to be a good place. A peaceful place. Dream and Sapnap are... they’re good people, but... not what I want for this nation. For my family, for my citizens.”

George’s grip tightens imperceptibly on his bow. “You think they’re destructive? Violent?”

“I just think they’re a little much.”

“I see.” And he does. George isn’t loud, George isn’t bright. George doesn’t burn like a candle flame knocked over onto a curtain, not like the others do. And Wilbur thinks he gets it.

“But you’re not like them!” Wilbur insists. “So why not join somewhere you fit? Where you have a place, where you could fight for peace?”

“Wilbur,” George chuckles, and Wilbur’s hands lower, slowly.

“Wilbur, I’m no different than them. I’m just better at keeping quiet.” 

George nocks an arrow. He raises the bow, slowly, until the sharp point of the arrowhead rests against Wilbur’s neck.

“As the leader of an enemy nation, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” George says, softly. 

“I hope you don’t regret this,” Wilbur says, but he turns around and walks away. 

“Never,” George whispers, but only to himself. He keeps his bow raised at Wilbur’s retreating silhouette.

He doesn’t shoot Wilbur in the back. He could. He probably should. 

He still doesn’t.

\------------

The jungle air is thick and humid as Tubbo backs away slowly, valuables clutched in his arms. 

“Why are you here?” he asks, desperately. His eyes take in the four armed warriors, flick to each of the possible exits to his base. 

“Sorry kiddo,” Dream shakes his head, “but this is war.”

“You asked for it,” Sapnap snarls, and he charges.

\------------

Dream slices his axe across Tubbo’s stomach as Tommy is shot through the thigh by Sapnap, and nearly falls off his own tower. The L’manbergians are forced to retreat, to regroup back on their own turf. So now they’re weakened, injured, and they’ve seen exactly what Dream and his people are willing to do. The power that they have. 

It’s another bid to get them to surrender. (Please just surrender.) Maybe seeing the netherite armor and weapons, maybe this close brush with death will be enough to do it. 

(It’s not, and Dream knows it, but he can hope.)

Wilbur wasn’t even there, Dream realizes, as he picks up some of Tubbo’s abandoned tools and Sapnap’s missed arrows. Steps over the spray of blood on the blackstone. 

He wasn’t even _there._

\------------

The four of them—Dream, Sapnap, George, and Punz, the full might of the SMP—are perched on L’manberg’s walls. For people like them, people who spend all their time in trees or on roofs or doing parkour courses, walls like this are child’s play to climb. 

“And so Wilbur finally shows his face,” Punz murmurs as the man in question emerges from the weird drug van. 

“Let ‘em fly,” Dream says, and they rain arrows down from the walls. 

(Another attempt at pushing them to surrender. It still isn’t working. It might be making things worse.)

\------------

“Are we doing the right thing, Bad?” Dream paces the community house. Bad sits on the chests, leaning against the wall. He’s leaving town again soon, but for now, he’s here. 

“What do _you_ think?”

“That’s not—that’s not helpful, Bad,” Dream’s laugh is strained. Anxious.

“But it’s a legitimate question. Do you think you’re doing the right thing?” Bad cocks his head.

“I mean—I mean yeah? L’manberg can’t have its independence. I’m sure of that,” Dream says, mustering up a kind of conviction.

“So what you’re really asking me is—do the ends justify the means?”

“I guess so. It’s—the war is a—ugh. I’m just worried.” Dream drags his hand down his mask like it’s his actual face, and Bad chuckles.

“So it’s the war itself that has you all jumbled?” 

“It’s pretty bad,” Dream sighs. “They’re—they don’t stand a chance, not really, but they just won’t give up. They’re going to keep fighting for their—for their stupid square of land until they’re dead.“ He laughs again, helplessly. “It’s not even two thousand blocks.” 

“Honestly, Dream? That kind of conflict is beyond me,” Bad shrugs. “Full-scale war... it’s overwhelming, and it’s frustrating, and it’s bloody. But then again,” and he smiles, “we’ve seen overwhelming, frustrating, and bloody, and we’ve eaten it for breakfast. So. Do the ends justify the means?”

“It’s not even us I’m worried about,“ Dream groans. “We’ll be fine in the end, no matter what happens. And—I mean, L’manberg is—they’re—they’re the enemy now, but... they’re still my people, Bad. I invited them here, I wanted them here, and I don’t want them dead. But L’manberg can’t be independent. It can’t.”

“Whatever you decide, Dream,” Bad says, carefully, “I’m with you. As long as you’re sure. As long as you can look at me and tell me you’re sure, I am with you.” 

“Okay,” Dream breathes, “okay. Thanks, Bad.”

“Always.”

\------------

“Sap,” Dream whispers in the quiet night, while it’s just the two of them in the community house, since everyone else is out patrolling. Sapnap grunts in response. 

“Sap, I... have an idea.”

“Yeah?” 

“But it might be going too far.”

“So you’re worried?”

“Kinda. It’ll work, but it’ll be messy. And… mean.”

“Will it end the war?”

“Should.”

“Then we should do it.”

“Even if it’s too much?”

“Especially if it’s too much. They deserve it, anyway.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I do.”

\------------

Dream’s finishing up his plan, laying down the last few wires, when George comes up to him. 

For all that George is introverted and isn’t one for people, he can read them like they’ve been left wide-open, can pick them apart like almost no one else can.

So when he comes up to Dream and says that Eret is the weak link, Eret’s lost faith in L’manberg—

(“Or maybe he never had it in the first place,” George muses—)

—He’s right. 

\------------

Guerilla warfare doesn’t have to belong only to the underdogs, despite what most works of fiction seem to imply. 

Traps, Punz is discovering, are his side’s specialty. 

So is scheming. 

Punz almost feels bad, patrolling the SMP’s border next to George and Sapnap while Dream talks to Eret in the embassy. He almost feels bad, but he doesn’t, because this war has dragged on long enough and he’s tired, and he’s tired of being tired, and he’s tired of watching everyone else be tired, too.

\------------

“Why did you do it?” Eret asks, and their hands do not shake as they wipe the blood from their sunglasses—careful, as always, to keep their eyes downcast, even if these three haven’t reacted as... violently as most. Punz is gone—left to go to bed a bit ago.

“Tactics,” Sapnap grunts. He cards a hand through his dark hair, winces as half-dried blood smears onto his hands. 

(There’s so much of it, everywhere, and Eret didn’t even pick up a blade but they can still feel it dripping off their hands.)

“No, I meant—the war. Why did you do it? Why have you—why are you pushing it this far? Is L’manberg really worth all that much to you?” They place the sunglasses back over their eyes, and the tint makes it a little hard to see in the dim torchlight, but they’re rather used to it by this point. 

“Having second thoughts?” Sapnap drawls. 

“Of course not,” Eret says, and it’s true. Self-preservation is carved into their bones, and this war was lost the moment it started. Kingship is too good to pass up, at this point. “But I want to know. Why?”

Sapnap glances away, and shrugs. Dream methodically wipes a cloth down a blade that should’ve been clean a long time ago. 

George is hard to read, always has been, even without a mask like Dream’s. It’s impossible to tell if he’s making eye contact behind his goggles, but he looks up from restringing his bow.

“It’s politically inconvenient,” he starts, and the tone of his voice is odd. “The presence of a separate country complicates resources and territory, and creates competition where there would have been none before. Not to mention—” and oh, Eret realizes, it’s odd because this is rehearsed. This is a pre-prepared answer. 

Dream stands and slings his axe across his back, stepping soundlessly outside into the night. If Eret hadn’t been looking for it, they never would’ve seen him leave. 

Sapnap follows—more conspicuously, but just as quickly.

“—Not to mention that an independent L’manberg would be under no obligation to follow the same rules that we’ve set in the SMP, and the possible implications of having an actual, functioning government and politics.”

“I see,” Eret whispers, and it’s just them and George now, and George is as impassive as ever. 

“And…” 

He’s going off-script, they can tell, and Eret’s bloodstained hands fiddle nervously with their bloodstained sleeves. 

“We made this… place, land, city, whatever—we made this place to be _home.”_

He stares at Eret like that explains everything, and Eret can only stare back into the blankness of his goggles, tinted as dark as Eret’s sunglasses. 

“Was it not enough?” George whispers, clutching the side of the crafting table he’s sitting on. “Were _we_ not enough?” 

There is a flash of some expression across his face, before he breathes, shoulders sagging. He slides off the table and steps quietly out the door, which clicks softly shut behind him. 

Eret is left sitting alone in the dim light, blood on their hands and under their fingernails and coating their stupid, stupid L’manberg uniform, and they are there for a long time. 

\------------

They cheer as L’manberg goes up in flames. The explosion is beautiful and it’s everything Dream’s ever wanted from an explosion, honestly, and it’s a relief to watch the van be blown wide open, to watch the lakewater spill into the gaping hole left by the TNT. It’s a relief. 

(Maybe they’ve won. Maybe this is over.)

L’manberg’s soldiers are bedraggled and bruised and broken, thoroughly broken, and Wilbur glares up at Dream through his sopping wet hair with the fury of a thousand suns dimmed to weak embers, and Dream feels nothing but relief. 

“Too much?” He whispers to Sapnap.

“Perfect,” Sapnap smiles, bright as the flames around him. 

\------------

If someone asks him later why he agreed to the duel, Dream wouldn’t be able to say. 

It was probably Tommy. It’s usually Tommy. 

(Tommy wouldn’t let the revolution die. Even if they figured out peace talks with Wilbur, even if Wilbur told Tommy to stand down, Tommy would keep fighting and fighting and fighting and fighting because Wilbur’s stubborn but Tommy’s loyal like a dog, and if Wilbur won’t finish his symphony then Tommy will finish it for him.)

So, coughing and sputtering, Dream chokes the poison down his throat with Sapnap on his right and George on his left, and—

\------------

And Wilbur Soot prepares to send his baby brother—

His baby brother, who toddled after him when they were five and twelve and sang all of his songs back to him off-key. Who said, when they were twelve and nineteen and Wilbur had a guitar and a backpack slung over his shoulders, _don’t wait up for me, but I’ll find you somehow,_ and then found him again and again and again, found his place at Wilbur’s side. 

(He takes a deep, shuddering breath. )

And Wilbur Soot prepares to send his baby brother to a duel. To die.

(And maybe Wilbur remembers childish screaming and games and rivals that are friends that are rivals, and maybe he remembers pressing someone else’s flour-coated fingers over his guitar strings, and maybe he remembers anxiously waiting at home in a snowstorm. And maybe he remembers what it was like to sit around a campfire, a family of four with a family of four, and maybe he regrets, just a little bit, this thing that they’ve broken.)

(Just maybe.)

\------------

_(Ten.)_

Dream stands on the bridge, wavering imperceptibly from the poison coursing through his system, pulsing painfully with every heartbeat. 

_(Nine.)_

Wilbur is talking to Tommy, his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy looks... small, and impossibly nervous. 

_(Eight.)_

“You’ve really got yourself in a mess,” Wilbur says with a fond, terrified laugh. It’s all that Dream can overhear.

_(Seven.)_

Tommy pulls away from Wilbur and turns to look at Dream, bow in one hand and a bundle of arrows in the other. 

_(Six.)_

And Dream knows, viscerally, that Tommy is going to die for L’manberg. 

_(Five.)_

He’s going to die for it. Why is he going to die for it? What is in L’manberg that is worth dying for? 

_(Four.)_

L’manberg is a tiny, tiny square of land. It’s not even two thousand blocks. There are no valuable resources, no valuable buildings. It’s just a walled-off square of land. That’s all it is. 

_(Three.)_

Dream and Tommy stand back to back. Dream—doesn’t understand. He doesn’t _understand_. L’manberg is nothing but a crater now, why is it worth fighting for? Why is it worth dying for? Why was it worth creating in the first place?

_(Two.)_

He misses Bad. Bad would know what to do.

_(One.)_

He steps in time to Wilbur’s counting. His bow shimmers with enchantments, entirely unnecessary right now. He has two arrows. He only needs one. He could end it. With one arrow, he could end everything. 

_(Ten paces—)_

He pivots, drawing back the bowstring. Breathes. 

_(FIRE!)_

He lets his arrow fly and Tommy pitches sideways, splashing into the river. Blood colors it red. He can barely hear Wilbur shouting, Fundy gasping, Tubbo screaming, and Eret’s soft, muttered _victory_ over the static roaring in his ears. He thinks he’s going to faint. Probably a bad idea, considering he just won a war. He should look strong, or... something.

Sapnap is at his side before he can topple over, pulling Punz over to help support his weight. 

“You okay?” Sapnap says, gripping Dream’s arm.

“Mm.”

“Did you kill him?” he asks. 

“No,” Dream whispers.

\------------

Tommy holds out his discs with trembling hands. His shoulder has to be killing him. The poison’s effects haven’t even worn off yet, he has to be miserable, when will this kid learn when enough is enough? 

Dream doesn’t want his stupid discs. Those first few battles for them—that was a game, some dumb fun. No one was hurt, and everyone was happy and fine in the end. The discs never meant anything real. To Tommy, sure, but not to Dream. 

But there’s something in Tommy’s eyes, in his bandaged knuckles and unsteady feet, that makes Dream stop. Sigh. Take the offered discs. 

_Do the ends justify the means?_ Bad asked him, and they don’t anymore. They don’t. 

“You can have your independence,” Dream finally decides, and it feels like something breaking. Tommy nods, unexpectedly somber, and says nothing.

“You’re on your own,” Dream says. 

_(You’re not one of mine anymore.)_

“I know,” Tommy says, and he turns around and leaves, scampering down the wooden pathways of the SMP towards his new country. 

_(That’s fine.)_

George drops down out of the branches of a nearby tree, and Sapnap steps out of the shadow of its trunk. 

“You sure?” Sapnap goes up to his side, and looks out at Tommy’s retreating back. 

“I think so,” Dream nods, and Sapnap nods back—for once, the steady one. He presses his shoulder against Dream’s.

“How come?” George asks. He never bothers being anything but blunt, with them, and it’s a comfort. “Feels a bit like giving up.”

“He was going to die for it,” Dream sighs. “And contrary to popular belief—” he chuckles, “—I don’t actually want him dying for it.”

“It’s not worth dying for,” Sapnap says. 

“Doesn’t matter if it is or it isn’t,” Dream shrugs. “He thinks it is.”

“Someone should tell him, then,” George comes to stand at his other side. “Something like that’s really not worth dying for.”

“Is the SMP worth dying for?” Dream wonders, his tone deceptively light. 

“No,” Sapnap says, instantly. 

“Nope,” George easily agrees. “It’s a good place. It’s a good home. But I wouldn’t die for it.”

“What about the ruins?” Dream asks. 

“Still no, dumbo,” Sapnap shakes his head. 

“Still no,” George laughs, light and soft. “We loved it there, but it was never about the place.”

Dream slings his arms around both of their shoulders. 

“I think that’s a good thing.” He pauses. “Don’t either of you dare going dying on me for something stupid now.”

“Wouldn’t _dream_ of it,” Sapnap grins. 

Dream laughs. “Shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is the EPITOME of “it’s not that deep but I’m going to talk about it like it is.” but I feel like we didn’t get a genuine reason for why the dteam (characters) reacted so strongly to l’manberg being created. I wanted to kinda explore that (both in the context of the kept promises series, and just in general). like, outside of “it was our land and they just took it” we didn’t get a lot of character motivation on the antagonists’ side, even tho it includes the three whole founding members of the server. so what we see according to canon is a shift in the demeanor of the dream team from friendly-but-chaotic during the previous smaller ‘wars’ to outright hostile during the independence war, and especially on Dream’s side, a shift from wanting no fighting to leading one side of the war, with the biggest turning point being l’manberg. but we don’t ever get to see just why l’manberg was so important. why was l’manberg more important than the drug van, or the disc war ?? why did l’manberg set everything off ??? we don’t get a proper answer so hence, fanfiction. also bc I just rlly wanted to write it but shhhhhhh let me have my character analyses in peace


End file.
